


Grandma Crieff

by smallsteps32



Series: The Other Side [9]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 13:23:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1552010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallsteps32/pseuds/smallsteps32
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As requested by Enremus - Wendy Crieff spending time with her grandchildren.</p><p>It isn't often that Martin and Deborah take time off to spend together, but when they do, it's time for Grandma Crieff to step up and look after their little angels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grandma Crieff

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a short piece for Enremus, taking a peek at Wendy and how she deals with the next generation of Crieffs.
> 
> I hope it's alright. Thank you for reading.

GRANDMA CRIEFF

In her old age, Wendy Crieff was settling into life alone. That wasn’t to say that she was unhappy – yes, she missed her husband, but the children still came to see her every now and again. Not as often as they used to, and they weren’t children anymore, but they had children of their own, which was nice.

Being a grandmother was the next great adventure. Caitlin and Martin didn’t leave the children with her often (they were busy after all and utterly devoted to their little ones), so it was wonderful to have them and spoil them rotten.

Martin and his lovely wife, Deborah, had proven themselves perfectly self-sufficient where their children were concerned. They had somehow managed to balance high-flying jobs with childcare. Nevertheless, sometimes both of them needed a day to themselves to rekindle the romance, which meant that it was Grandma Crieff to the rescue.

Flora and Dougie were beautiful children – even if she did say so herself. Flora was seven now and…doing as well as her father had in school. She was very bright, very…precocious…and absolutely charming. Dougie was quiet for a four year old, with the sweetest disposition. Together…they were a handful.

Which was probably why Martin and Deborah smiled so sweetly when they handed the children over and practically fled to his van, reversing off the driveway before Wendy had time to wave them goodbye.

That was alright though. Both Flora and Dougie were perfectly capable of occupying themselves in separate rooms. So long as Wendy moved between the two of them and filled them with treats at lunch-time, everything was enjoyable for everyone.

As Wendy put the finishing touches to the children’s lunches, she turned and walked into the sitting room. Flora was sitting on the sofa, the day’s post laid out across her knees, Martin’s pensive pout resting upon her lips. When she heard her grandmother enter the room, she looked up, smiled, and gathered the letters up before hopping to her feet.

“Can I file these?” Flora inquired, presenting the letters as if they were a pack of cards.

“File them?” Wendy replied, bending down so that they could speak eye to eye, “What do you mean, file them?”

“Filing! Like how Mummy files the papers that are about GERTI and my teachers file our reports.” Flora explained, rolling her eyes and letting out a weighted sigh, “I need to practice if I want to do filing as a job.”

“Oh – you want to be a PA?” Wendy nodded sagely, but she couldn’t help but be confused, “I thought you wanted to be an acrobat.”

“I’m not good at all the twisting.” Flora retorted, the epitome of severity as she blinked down at her knees beneath her dress, as if they were to blame, “But filing is just my hands, and they’re not too clumsy.”

“That’s lovely dear.” Wendy cooed, reaching out to stroke Flora’s ginger curls; the girl was changing aspirations every other week, but so long as her attention was held, she was no trouble at all, “Of course you can file them – make them alphabetical for me.”

“I can do that.” Flora assured her, then she offered up a curt nod and returned to the sofa. She held each letter up in front of her eyes and peered at the address on each one. Her brow furrowed, but she didn’t twig the fact that each one was the same.

“That’s a good girl.” Wendy rose to her feet, joints creaking as she moved, and looked about the room; there was no frantic movement and no shouts, which was both a good and an unnerving sign, “Do you know where your brother’s gone?”

“The garden.” Flora replied.

Wendy left her to her ‘filing’ and wandered through the kitchen into the garden. At first glance, when she opened the door, she couldn’t see or hear a thing. Recalling the trouble that Martin had used to get into, she glanced up into the old tree – but it was empty. Of course, Dougie was too small and too clever to try and reach the lowest branches, which had been cut away so that even Simon couldn’t reach them.

Wendy was about to turn back inside when she heard the childish patter of feet on the grass and an elaborate hum. A moment later, Dougie appeared, auburn curls bouncing as he stumbled around the side of the house, toy aeroplane held aloft.

The way that he tripped over his own feet and focused solely upon the engine noises that his throat produced, the toy already old with dust and years spent in the cupboard, all of it made something warm and pleasant settle beside Wendy’s heart. It was like a small glimpse into the past, when an even clumsier boy had pottered about.

“Look Granny, look!” Dougie skipped over to Wendy, plane still held high for her to see as he tracked mud across the patio, “Is-sa plane – like Daddy’s planes an-a-and the big one.”

“Yes, it _is_.” Wendy nodded and beamed over the toy, placing a hand on Dougie’s back to guide him back inside, “That used to be Daddy’s plane, when he was little. Wherever did you find it?”

“A box.” Dougie replied brightly, then he frowned as he entered the kitchen and held the plane to his chest; his eyes widened as he looked up at his grandmother, “I-I didn’t wan’ you to feel sad cos I took it, s-so I put my shoe inna box instead.”

Wendy looked down and saw that, yes, Dougie was missing a shoe.

“That’s silly.” Flora scoffed as she wandered into the kitchen, letters still clutched in her hands, and hopped up onto one of the high seats around the table, “We’ve got lots of planes at home already, and Mummy will be sad you lost your shoe.”

“You’re silly.” Was all that Dougie had to say in return, but he pouted down at his muddy show nonetheless, turning the plane between his hands, “I-I-I like it. It has wheels and wings and is blue so it’s nice. I can throw it and it doesn’t break.” He looked to Wendy, “A-am I in trouble?”

“Oh, don’t worry dear.” Wendy bent down and lifted Dougie into her arms, grateful that he was still light enough to do so before she deposited him on the chair beside Flora, and hastened to place sandwiches in front of them both, “You can have the plane – my treat. I’ll go fetch your shoe for you. That way nobody’s sad.”

Dougie nodded quickly, but his attention was diverted by the food placed before him. Certain that the children were placated, Wendy turned to hunt for Dougie’s shoe. As she left the room, she heard Flora muttering.

“ _I’m_ sad. All of these letters have the same words – there _is_ no right order! I-I could throw them on the floor and that’d be the right order.”

“The floor is messy.” Dougie retorted.

“You’re messy.”

Wendy sighed, but left them to it. After all, there were only a few hours left to spend with her grandchildren…and they were absolute angels when they thought she was looking. That was more than any adult could hope for.


End file.
